


Miss Me, Miss Me

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [8]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Collars, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Dom/sub, Edging, Feelings, Leashes, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Sharing Clothes, Teasing, Vibrators, bottom appreciation hours, shifting dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: This is part of an ongoing D/s series. Heed the tags.Part 8.__Connor and Anderson spend a lot of time apart due to their jobs. They make the most of the time they do have together in creative ways.





	Miss Me, Miss Me

They make the distance work with Connor splitting his time between the labs in Michigan and his Cyberlife office in Texas. When he’s home, he stays with Anderson. It’s not so much a discussion as it is a foregone conclusion. With so much time apart, they both yearn for as much closeness as possible

On rare occasions, Connor stays alone in Anderson’s house. Anderson travels from time to time to give speeches on the latest breakthroughs in robotics given his field expertise. One such trip keeps Anderson away for six days instead of two.

“The weather is shit in Buffalo. Did you know?” Anderson drawls when Connor asks about his yet-again-delayed flight. Connor tries his best not to pout, but Anderson hears it in his voice all the same.

“Go check my closet. There’s a…_gift_ for you. I intended to give it to you when I got home, but maybe it’ll lift your spirits.” Connor hears the emphasis and tone. Anderson wasn’t big on gifts; Connor’s almost certain he knows what kind of present it will be.

“Should I wait or…?” Connor fades off, and Anderson chuckles. Connor can almost feel the rumble of it through the phone.

“Keep me on the line.” Anderson’s voice is amused with a touch of something dark. Connor shivers and his hands shake slightly as he cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear. He swears he can hear Anderson smile at the sound of crinkling paper.

It’s a jewelry box, square and slender. Connor furrows his brow at it, uncertain why Anderson would want to gift him jewelry. It wasn’t something he’d ever expressed much interest in and—

“Open it,” Anderson’s voice comes out as a command as if he knew Connor’s mind was wandering.

Thumbing off the lid, Connor sucks in a sharp inhalation at the sight. Anderson’s voice caresses his ear when he speaks, “I want you to be wearing it when I come home. Tonight.”

Heat flares to life in Connor’s belly, “But, I thought…your flight, you said it was delayed.”

“It is,” Anderson replies, voice full of mirth, “by about an hour.”

“You’re awful,” Connor says without any heat, running his fingertips over double-banded strips of leather culminating in a solid platinum ring. It looks vaguely like a choker, but Connor knows better.

They’d talked about it, finding something inconspicuous for Connor to wear around the house when he wanted Anderson’s particular brand of attention. It was also a means to curb Connor’s bratty tendencies when he was feeling the itch.

Slipping it around his neck, Connor fiddles with adjustments until it is snug without biting into his skin. He can’t quite meet his reflections gaze when he wanders to the floor-length mirror to look himself over. Anticipation courses through Connor’s veins like a siren’s song. He can feel the smooth metal bob around his Adam’s apple when he swallows. Fingering the loop, he tugs, imagining it’s Anderson doing so.

He palms his growing erection at the thought before divesting his work clothes. Anderson won’t be home for several more hours; he might as well get comfortable. It’s what he tells himself when he slips into one of Anderson’s sweaters. It’s huge on him and the navy blue sleeves nearly conceal his hands entirely. Standing barelegged, Connor can’t help but notice how the neck of the sweater slouches to one side, revealing his clavicles. It highlights the collar around his neck.

It isn’t long before Connor’s kneeling on the carpet, running his hands over his neck, up his thighs, teasing himself into painful arousal. There’s still time—time to calm himself down, save his release for Anderson—

He pulls on the collar once more and he bucks into his palm, working himself over through his boxers. His eyes flutter closed as he imagines it’s Anderson’s hands touching him. He exhales breathily, moaning, “Hank…”

It takes several flustered heartbeats for him to catch up to his panic. He’d said Anderson’s _name_. It had taken some getting used to in professional settings to refer to him as Hank. While he now used Hank’s name in everyday conversation, he always called him sir when he took him to bed.

Touching himself, whimpering his lover’s name felt deliciously intoxicating.

“Enjoying yourself, Connor?”

Connor startles badly, dropping his hands and trying to rise. Before he even has a foot underneath himself, Anderson says quietly, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Connor sinks back to the floor, palming himself, watching Anderson in the mirror.

Glancing at the leather wrapped around Connor’s neck, Anderson smiles and strokes Connor’s hair. “You like to say my name?”

His reply comes out breathy and laced with desire, “Y-Yes, sir.”

The hand in his hair tightens, and Connor’s eyes fly open to take in Anderson’s smoldering gaze.

“Only good boys get to call me by my name,” Anderson’s voice is quiet but Connor hears every letter of his words.

“Sir?” He’s transfixed by the sight before him and it’s the only thing he can think to say.

Anderson releases Connor’s hair and sinks to his knees behind him. Reaching around, he pulls Connor’s erection free from his boxers, encouraging him to resume his fondling.

Connor watches as Anderson’s mouth lowers to where his shoulder meets his neck, sucking a livid mark into life. Connor bucks into his own hand, eyes glued to the mottled red spot shining like a spit-slick brand. The first of many, he’s certain.

Anderson ghosts his fingers over his claim. Blue eyes meet brown in the mirror and Anderson murmurs the question as he nuzzles at Connor’s ear, “Can you be good for me? Can you _wait_?”

Connor hears the implied accusation and is quick to offer an explanation, “I wasn’t going to—I was just—”

“You weren’t masturbating just now?”

Connor flushes at the bluntness of the question, “I was, but I wasn’t…I was going to wait. To finish.” Anderson gives him a skeptical look and his blush thunders across his face and ears before consuming his neck, “I was just…” his voice fades off until it’s impossibly quiet. “It was just a tease.”

“Oh, Connor,” Anderson’s tone is calm and even as it always when he’s preparing something agonizing and delicious, “you can ride the edge better than that.”

Connor’s breath hitches and he whimpers slightly when Anderson reaches around to clasp a long lead in place. The leather matches that of the collar around his neck and Anderson gives it a small yank, “Do you want to _play_ Connor?”

Connor nods and watches as Anderson rises to strip the bed down to its deep red sheets. Restraints hit the mattress with a dull thud and Anderson approaches him with a smile full of sinful intent.

Anderson didn’t often get detailed with bindings given how long it could take. Even so, the results were usually worth the effort. The crisscross of red ropes stand out in stark contrast to his pale skin.

It had taken him a few months to notice the white hooks in the ceiling. They blended in with the paint and didn’t appear to have a function. Facedown with his arms spread wide and held in place by ropes crossing under the bed, he understands their purpose now as he feels his hips rise.

“Are you comfortable?” Connor suppresses a panicked giggle. He’s always nervous when Anderson’s been away for too long. He forgets he’s safe until Anderson takes the time to remind him. A gentle hand warms his cheek with a caress, waiting.

Connor glances to the mirror. They hadn’t used it for anything other than its functional purpose since Anderson had made the call to end a scene more than a year ago. Still intrigued by the idea, Connor’s thankful he can’t see his face—seeing his hips suspended a few inches off the mattress is heady but it’s enough.

His thighs rest against the silken sheets and he gives an experimental thrust. The drag of his cock against them makes him shiver and he nods his assent to Anderson.

“Good,” Anderson purrs, spreading Connor’s cheeks. He feels the tip of a familiar toy slip inside. It’s smaller than what Connor aches for, further fueling his arousal. His hips bucks at the intrusion and he sees himself hump against the mattress in the mirror.

Anderson notices his gaze and works the toy in and out of him a few times before murmuring, “You don’t have to watch if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Connor nods, but he can’t tear his eyes away. Seeing how his body reacts is nearly as good as feeling the electric pulses of want that course through his body at each thrust. When the toys hums to life against his prostate, his hips stutter as he drools a debauched moan against the satin-smooth bedding.

Sliding the toy to the base, Anderson watches and waits for Connor’s movements to become desperate.

“You don’t appear to be holding back, Connor. Is it too hard to behave for me?” Connor’s hips go still and a whimper builds deep in his chest when Anderson increases the intensity of the vibrations.

He lasts for about a minute before he humps against the mattress, “I’m sorry, sir.” It comes out a whisper and Anderson reaches out to palm Connor’s face.

“Don’t be,” he rumbles in a deep, soothing tone. “You’re gorgeous like this.” Connor leans into the touch and his panicked heartbeat slows at the reassuring contact. “Do you require assistance?” Connor nods and Anderson reaches up to adjust the ropes.

As his hips rise a few critical inches, Connor’s grip tightens around the restraints keeping his arms held in place. When Anderson revs up the plug once more, Connor bucks and his straining erection barely skims the surface of the sheets.

It’s maddening. It’s perfect.

“Don’t come, Connor,” Anderson issues the order as he takes a seat a few feet across from the mattress next to the mirror. Connor’s eyes dart from his reflection to the liquid blue gaze of his lover and back again.

When he doesn’t answer, Anderson tugs on the leash that Connor had all but forgotten about in his lust-fueled haze. It’s a sharp reminder and he’s quick to pant out, “Yes, sir.”

Connor’s movements become more frantic and he strains against the ropes seeking friction. Anderson wraps the leather around his fist, applying slight but constant pressure to the collar. When Connor meets his gaze, Anderson sees his wavering hold on his release.

“Do you need to come, Connor?” Anderson asks conversationally, leaning closer.

“Yessss, sir,” Connor’s answer comes out half-hissed.

Connor can come untouched, he knows, so he doesn’t mince words, “Would you like me to fuck you?”

Connor’s body trembles at the question and he repeats himself on a whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Anderson draws out the single syllable, rising to stroke at Connor’s spine. “Don’t come yet, Connor,” Anderson gives the order while unzipping his pants and Connor groans at the sound, redoubling his efforts to contain his orgasm.

“Perhaps you need a distraction?” Connor’s forehead wrinkles in confusion until he sees Anderson stroking his impressive length. He nods and opens his mouth, eager for his lover to be inside him one way or another.

With a tug of the leash, the head of Anderson’s cock slips between Connor’s waiting lips. The angle is awkward, but it serves its purpose. Concentration elsewhere, Connor’s impending orgasm reduces from a boil to a simmer.

Anderson cards his fingers through Connor’s hair, “When you come tonight, you come for my cock alone.” Connor nods around the shaft pumping in and out of his mouth, humming in anticipation.

Withdrawing suddenly, Anderson’s hand tightens in Connor’s hair. A slender strand of saliva glistens from Connor’s mouth to the top of Anderson’s dick before snapping under pressure. Locking eyes, Anderson murmurs, “I’m going to make you scream, Connor.”

Mouth still agape, Connor’s breathing increases noticeably the more Anderson talks, “I want everyone in the country to hear you fall apart around my dick.”

Crimson embarrassment floods Connor’s cheeks, well aware how loud he can be. Still, it’s uncharacteristic for Anderson to encourage exhibitionist behavior given how much he values their privacy.

Seeing the question on Connor’s face, Anderson runs a thumb over his fuck-plumped lips, “I want them to know who’s ruining you. I want you to scream my _name_.”

Once he’s started saying it, he can’t stop. It had started reverential and quiet at the first press of Hank’s cock against him, “Hank.”

Both men fell motionless, struck silent by the power of a name. It wasn’t long before breathy whispers became needy shrieks.

“Hannnk, oh fuc—haNK! Fuck. Me. Oh my gaaah—Hank, Hank, please,” Connor babbles at Anderson’s relentless, demanding pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts out between thrusts, “so good for me.” Connor whimpers at the praise, trembling beneath Anderson’s hands. Thick fingers dig into Connor’s trim waist, forcing him back to meet the buck of Anderson’s hips.

Connor keens into the mattress, fisting soft sheets in both restrained hands.

Anderson slackens his grip in favor of tugging at the leash. He slows his pace, changing the angle to press a kiss to Connor’s shoulder, “Let it out, Connor. Let them know who you belong to.” When Anderson resumes pistoning his hips, Connor can feel his orgasm circling around his gut, looking for release.

“Hank,” Connor whispers, tone urgent, “Hank, I’m—I want—Hank, please.”

Smiling at the desperation in his voice, Anderson murmurs, “Tell me what you need, Connor. Use your words.”

Connor’s answer is immediate, “More. Hank, please. All of you.” Withdrawing to the tip, Hank slams into Connor again and again. Connor cries out at the renewed force, wailing Hank’s name.

His orgasm is blinding and loud. Stars swim in his field of vision as his voice cracks around one final shriek. He mutters Hank’s name on repeat like a balm as Anderson gently releases his wrists and lowers his hips. He closes his eyes, letting Anderson rub out his shoulders from being restrained. He peppers kisses along skin reddened by ropes before slipping Connor back into the oversized sweater.

Pulling him close after cleaning him up, Anderson murmurs his appreciation into Connor’s hair. The truth of it absorbs into his skin like a shield against doubt.

“Hank?” He asks tentatively, clarifying that they’re out of the scene.

Anderson’s fingers ghost over the mark on Connor’s neck as he hums, “Hmm?”

Reaching up to grab at his hand, Connor presses a kiss to Anderson’s fingertips, “I missed you.”

Anderson snorts, “So I noticed.”

Connor hesitates, knowing it’s hard for Anderson to make such declarations, “Did you miss me?”

Anderson’s quiet for a long time and Connor wonders if he fell asleep until he exhales a long-held breath, “Of course I did.”

It’s not exactly a heartfelt sentiment and Connor tries not to feel too disappointed. Anderson tightens his hold, pulling Connor close enough to nose at his hair, “Goodnight, Connor.”

“Goodnight,” he replies quietly, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him.

Anderson exhales again, sharper this time, “I love you.”

Connor’s glows in the dark, affection lighting up his entire body. Squeezing Hank’s fingers between his own he murmurs back, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake)


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